


out of the rain

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel shows up on Jehan's doorstep during a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out of the rain

It's not the first time Bahorel shows up at Jehan's door, sporting a black eye, tonguing his split lip. A while ago, Jehan would have had no idea what to do. Now, with the lightning setting the sky ablaze, the air heavy with petrichor and the rain making Bahorel's clothes cling to his skin, Jehan simply steps aside and lets him in.

It's tempting to explain Bahorel's behaviour by relating it to the extreme weather—he gets into brawls when it's too hot, he starts riots when it's too cold, he breaks bones when the sky is filling with storm clouds—but the truth is much simpler than that. This is what Bahorel _does_ and Jehan has long since learned to accept it. 

Bahorel waits for him, head ducked and shoulders up, hands in his pockets though his knuckles must be bloodied. He looks as if he's expecting Jehan to turn him away and tell him to tend to his own wounds if he's going to get injured in fights that he starts himself, but they both know that's not going to happen. It's why he comes here, to Jehan's meagre supply of bandages and antiseptic, instead of going to Joly or to Combeferre, who would be much more experienced in these matters. 

"You'll catch a cold and fall sick if you keep wearing those wet clothes," Jehan says softly, leading the way into the lounge room.

"Well, I don't think I'll fit into any of yours."

Jehan goes into his room, finding a large sweater and loose pants, handing them to Bahorel. "Better than falling sick. Joly will fear that you'll die of pneumonia. At the very least, spare him from worrying."

"And you?" Bahorel asks, raising an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his lips.

"Go and change. I'll get the bandages out and make some tea."

He has two steaming cups of tea sitting on the table by the time Bahorel comes back out. Jehan's clothes are a little too small on him, but not restrictive. If anything, it means that cling to him much like his own wet clothes did, emphasising his muscles, his thick arms, his solid chest.

Jehan averts his eyes, clearing his throat and picking up the bottle of antiseptic. "This is going to sting."

Bahorel is a better patient than Jehan had ever expected him to be, bearing the ministrations silently, tensing when his wounds sting but never making a sound. Jehan bandages his hands and then gets an icepack for Bahorel's black eye, leaving him to hold it as he goes and gets a towel.

"You don't have to do this," Bahorel murmurs, when Jehan stands in front of him, running the towel through his hair. 

"You came to me," Jehan replies mildly. "Let me take care of you."

"I appreciate the fact that you've cleaned my wounds. I appreciate the bandages, but…" Bahorel trails off as Jehan's hand stills. With a sigh, he bows his head to let Jehan run the towel through his hair with less difficulty. "Thank you."

Setting the towel aside, Jehan laughs quietly. When Bahorel looks up at him, he explains, "Your hair. It's sticking up all over the place. Here…"

He runs his fingers through Bahorel's damp hair, combing it back into place. Bahorel watches him, fringe falling over one eye, and while Jehan knows that he's already fixed it, he can't quite bring himself to pull his hands away from Bahorel's hair.

"C'mere," Bahorel growls playfully, grabbing Jehan by the hips and pulling him down to straddle him.

They both freeze, the proximity new to them. Bahorel's lips are parted and Jehan can't quite look away from them, his heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly. 

_This is ridiculous_ , he thinks to himself with an amused huff, shaking his head. He kisses Bahorel, tongue flicking out to taste the blood from the cut on his lip. Bahorel surges forward, kissing him harder, and it must make his lips sting but if anything, that only makes him kiss Jehan harder. They hold each other close, deepening their kiss. 

Bahorel is a passionate man—it's one of the things Jehan likes so much about him—and it shows in the way he kisses. He leaves Jehan breathless, craving more, but then again, that's the effect Bahorel seems to have on him these days anyway. Jehan matches Bahorel kiss for kiss, pleased at the moans he's drawing from him.

They're both smiling when they pull apart and Jehan gently strokes a hand over the unbruised side of Bahorel's face. The storm is still going on outside, the thunder rumbling in the distance and the rain a steady patter against the windows. 

"Our tea," Jehan remembers with a quiet gasp.

Bahorel chuckles, drawing him into another kiss before letting go, moving to the larger couch. Jehan hands him a teacup with a bright smile, settling down beside Bahorel with his own cup.

"You look pleased with yourself," he murmurs, sipping his tea.

"Please," Bahorel replies, grinning. "Like you're having any luck keeping that smile off your face." 

"Well I'm not trying to," Jehan replies simply, and that's enough to make Bahorel's grin spread into a full blown smile. Jehan matches it, leaning against him. "See? Much better."


End file.
